


One Last Rendezvous

by ThisisVenereVeritas



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Low Chaos Daud, Medium Chaos (Dishonored), Post-Low Chaos Ending, Set after the second game, for the first game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9087319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas
Summary: A blast of wind gusted through the trees, rattling drying leaves to the ground. The iciness of the weather mixed with that of the sea, and it carried the thick miasma of death, awakening Daud from his rest and causing him to recoil. A shiver erupted down his back, and he curled into the hammock, taking with him the heavy wool blanket, the last relic of his days spent in Dunwall, into his chest.





	

Sandy white beaches that once held the heat of the day until now harbored the bodies of bloated corpses filled with bloodfly larvae. Sunsets that kissed the horizon and skies that sighed refreshing breezes currently pushed heavy black smoke from ritual burnings. 

Gulls cried, flying outward and disappearing into the late, amber afternoon. The waves soothed forward, indifferent of the chaos taking place on the docks. A flock dived out from the darkening sky, towards the emptying beaches to their nests. 

A blast of wind gusted through the trees, rattling drying leaves to the ground. The iciness of the weather mixed with that of the sea, and it carried the thick miasma of death, awakening Daud from his rest and causing him to recoil. A shiver erupted down his back, and he curled into the hammock, taking with him the heavy wool blanket, the last relic of his days spent in Dunwall, into his chest. 

There was hardly anything left. From then, and now.

Daud stared through the hammocks thick knots, in the direction of the sea ahead. A far gentler breeze swept by, rocking the hammock and its tired old occupant. 

How things have changed, Daud thought as the hammock came to a still. Some bloodfly seasons were worse than others, Daud recalled, but this one was noticeably different. Salt in the air stung his eyes. Daud closed them, was hit with pleasant exhaustion. It took him a while to reopen them. 

Not just the bloodflies, but so many things differed from what he remembered as a boy, a young man. Daud relaxed, readjusted the old woolen blanket and continued to rest his tired eyes on the rolling current while the cold wind continue to rock him.

After spending so many years fearing how he'd fall to the knife, a bit of bloodflies and rumors of a killer running amok in Karnaca were the last of his worries.  

_Hello, my old friend._

Just as he was about to close his eyes, the old voice rang. The air stilled and the rocking ceased. The sound of the waves were replaced with unnerving silence of the Void. 

_How long has it been since we last spoke to one another?_

Daud rubbed his face into the wool, too uncaring to check for the source of the voice beckoning him. 

_Have you nothing to say, after so many years?_

"What's there to say that hasn't already been said to you, time and time again?" Daud replied dryly. He continued to stare forward, not out of malice, but with complete disinterest. Another long period of silence from his black-eyed boy, and now The Outsider expected to be welcomed with more servitude? Daud yawned. He was too old, too tired to succumb to the same rituals as before, and was perfectly fine with it. 

_I'm sure you're aware of why I came to visit._  

"Come to warn me of what awaits on the other end?"

_No._ Through his fogging lens, Daud was sure he was looking right through the Void, and could make out the crashing waves crawling up the shore. _I merely wanted to visit, to see what's become of the famed 'Knife of Dunwall.'_

Daud chuckled into his blanket. The 'Knife of Dunwall,' terror of the streets, who spent his first winter in Karnaca homeless and in search of a meal, later sold away his spyglass for some shoes, his modified crossbow for some bread and fruit. To think he'd leave one battle and return to yet another, and for fifteen years... Daud wasn't sure whether to answer the voice's remark with mockery or anguish. 

He sighed into the blanket. "Are you implying you haven't been watching in shadows this entire time, for your own amusement?" 

Daud was answered with silence, and when he blinked, his eyes irritated from the lack of an answer, his vision cleared and he returned to staring at the darkening sea, what little he could make of it without strain. His age and exhaustion welcomed him, and Daud felt increasingly tired, so much more so that he immediately questioned whether everything that had just occurred had been real or not.  

The sky was a deep purple in the midsts of turning black, and Daud was alone on the beach, muscles too weary and bones cold to leave his spot and attempt to find aid from a stranger in the city. He reached for his blanket and wrapped himself in it, embracing the warmth it still provided him. He relaxed his heavy eyelids, trying to remember who gave him the blanket; had it been Akila, or was it Rapha that gifted it to him? 

Faint whispers, laughters and orders from another world over were carried under a warm, smoky backdraft. Barely recognizable memories of Whalers, men and women and children who followed after him. It filled the old assassin with longing, to remember all their faces, their names and knowledge of their current situation. A rough, wet cough broke Daud from his thought. He rubbed his aching chest, and then pulled the blanket to cover the bottom half of his face before letting that question go unanswered. At his age, there were more pressing matters. 

Gulls nestled in the trees, settling in for another long night during the month of High Cold. Not too far, the city went aglow with lanterns to lead the last of the day's laborers through the alleyways. Pyres were doused with seawater, and the remaining bodies were lain together in preparation for tomorrow, and men began the long trek back home or to the nearest pub. Women held the hands of their children, guided home by dedicated watchmen, while just above worshippers of The Outsider lit dim lanterns of oil, praying that their curious deity finally answer their many calls. 

The weather turned, and the waves pushed icy hostile squalls on to the shore. The hammock swayed, lulling its occupant to a wonderfully deep sleep, one he hadn't known in nearly sixteen years. Though carved whale bones called for his name, the old man concentrated only on the soft melody of the increasing tide. It was so faint, so soft and unlike the crashing noice he thought he was familiar with, that he quickly went under, sinking under the itchy wool and towards the melancholic cries of the ocean, a new void.  

The Outsider stared outwards, at the old shipping vessel swaying after the flashes of the lighthouses. It was so very, _very_ far away.

The winds ceased, and rocking dwindled. The hammock stilled.  

_Goodbye, Daud._  


End file.
